


By Inches

by callowyn, MoragMacPherson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Croatverse, Dean in Panties, Fallen Castiel, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, RoboSam, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callowyn/pseuds/callowyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoragMacPherson/pseuds/MoragMacPherson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wouldn’t trust Sam with anyone but himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Inches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaimeykay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimeykay/gifts).



_”Shit,”_ said Risa beside him, raising her weapon. By the time she’d called for backup, Dean was already through the gate and pointing his gun straight at the thing wearing his brother’s face.

Its eyes revealed nothing as it knelt down, placed its own gun in the dirt, and stood back up empty-handed. "I'm not Lucifer."

Dean refused to let his hand shake. "You think I don’t know whose body you’re riding? I've seen you." On the news, to be fair, before the televisions had died, but Dean had seen it, seen the cities left smoldering while Sam Winchester’s body walked out of the wreckage.

It sighed. "No, you've seen _him._ I'm...Sam. From 2011."

Dean pulled back the hammer on his revolver. This was the reason he and Sam had separated in the first place: so that their enemies would stop using his brother against him. "Sam said 'yes' in 2010." He could hear the rest of the patrol shifting behind him, waiting for Dean’s signal. Probably wondering why they weren’t all dead already.

"That was your Sam. When I said yes, it was after I destroyed the Croatoan virus, and I was able to overthrow Lucifer. Temporarily. It's complicated." He could see the thing giving a weak smile in the murky twilight of the road; dusk came early surrounded by so many tall pines.

"Real bang-up job. Guess you missed the pack we killed an hour ago." Dean was acutely aware of the others behind him. He wanted them gone, out of range of this thing, but another part of him—the Dean Winchester who had never forgotten John’s first rule—wanted Sam out of the range of _them._

The thing shrugged. "Like I said: it's complicated.” It jerked a thumb over its shoulder. “I brought a couple of cases of toilet paper, since I heard you need it, but I left those where I landed about a mile back."

“Landed?” Dean stepped forward, keeping the gun trained on Sam's body. "Where'd you bring it from?"

"From 2011."

"Wasn't a single Walmart left open in 2011."

"From _my_ 2011," he amended. "I figured I should introduce myself first." It pursed its lips at Dean’s gun. "Should I have shown up with the gift? Sometimes I get this shit wrong."

For the Prince of Lies, this thing sure wasn’t trying very hard. "Mister 'Dean-don’t-talk-with-your-mouth-full' Sammy Winchester forgetting his manners? Bullshit."

It blinked. "Oh, sorry. I'm not him either."

Dean’s feet had brought him close enough now that he could press the barrel of his gun into Sam’s chest, right over his heart. "Then who the hell are you?"

It raised Sam's hands without breaking eye contact. "I'm Sam Winchester, I swear. Just without all the sharing and caring shit. Go ahead, test me.” It rolled one sleeve up to the elbow, revealing the soft skin underneath. “I'll explain the rest of this later."

And this asshole had a lot of nerve, showing up at Camp Chitaqua as Lucifer's vessel and expecting there to _be_ a later. "When?"

"When you're not shoving a gun in my chest. Cas can vouch for me, if you’ll let him: there's nothing in here but me.” It leaned forward. “C'mon, Dean—is this any way to treat your brother?"

Dean's eyes darted to the rest of the patrol and the other men behind the fence, all with their weapons aimed at his brother's body. "I’m taking him to Cas," he called. “If he kills me, shoot him. If he tries to run, shoot him.” He turned Sam’s body around, the gun now pointed at Sam’s head. “Hands behind your back.”

Dean unhooked his pair of handcuffs from his belt-loop and latched them around Sam’s wrist one-handed. He tightened both cuffs until they bit into the thing's wrists, but it made no complaints. The heartbeat under Dean’s fingers was steady.

"Kinky, Dean, didn't know you were into that," it muttered. Dean picked up its gun off the ground and pretended not to hear.

Dean kept an eye on him as they both headed for the gate. He acted a little like the Sammy that Dean remembered: eyes always moving, taking everything in, noting strategic positions and escape routes. Dean looked again the gun he’d picked up: Sam’s old Taurus, the one he’d given Sam on his thirteenth birthday. Lucifer wouldn’t have needed a gun. Of course, if this was a really complicated ruse on Lucifer's part, then Dean didn't actually have any way of killing him. _Fuck_.

Dean rubbed his face with the back of his hand, scowling. Dangle some version of his brother in front of him and he was already acting like some careless idiot civilian. He poked the thing’s back with his gun. "Walk."

"Why didn't you just have Cas come to us?" it asked, and Dean’s step stuttered, because that was a little too much like Sam, asking questions even with his hands cuffed and a gun on him.

"He's laid up with a broken foot, and the dumbfuck won’t use his damn crutches." Dean prodded Sam's upper arm, feeling the hard muscles shift. Whoever was running the show in there was still taking pretty good care of this body. Sam picked up his pace, and Dean leaned over to Risa, who was a few paces back, shifting her shoulders under the strap of her gun as she kept it pointed at Sam.

“Get everyone ready to leave,” he said in an undertone. “For whatever good it’ll do. And no one come in the cabin, all right?”

Risa stared him down with a little too much understanding in her eyes, but she nodded and drew back.

"This way, Sasquatch." Dean winced at the nickname that returned to his lips too naturally. He couldn't afford to let himself get his hopes up, not with the camp depending on him to keep them safe. He opened the door to Cas’s cabin, pushing the beaded curtain aside so it wouldn't get caught in that shaggy too-long hair. He let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when Sam crossed the salt line over the threshold.

"Cas! If you're choking the chicken, put it away!" Dean called out as they entered. He hadn't been to this cabin in a while, but some things didn't take seeing twice. Maybe this little problem would knock Cas out of the drug haze he'd been wallowing in for the last two weeks—Dean didn't have any illusions about bridging the rift that had opened between them months before that.

Cas was settled into that busted armchair of his, eyes half-closed. The broken foot was propped up on an ottoman some incense or another burned on the sideboard behind him. "Because nothing helps a calming meditation like seeing Lucifer’s vessel," said Cas when he saw Sam, but then he squinted. “Whoa, blast from the past. When’d you come from?”

Sam huffed out a laugh. "2011. My brother said you'd pick up on that straight away." He nodded at Dean. "Not this one. Could you explain it to him?"

Cas sat back and blinked. "Certainly." He got a strange smile on his face, that patronizing twinkle in his eyes that Dean had grown to hate even more than the glazed-over look the drugs gave him. "He’s not Lucifer, at least, and he’s not possessed. And—" he squinted again before continuing, "I'd say he's from a slightly alternate reality. Maybe one or two decisions off from this one."

Sam ducked his head as if to say, 'See?' The expression still wasn't quite right, but Cas looked totally calm. Dean took a couple of steps towards Cas, away from Sam, feeling a sudden need to be between them. "Either of you care to tell me what the fuck that means?"

He was treated to sighs in stereo. "I'm from a reality where I managed to get Lucifer back in the Cage,” Sam said. “Jumped in the box, took him and Michael and Adam with me. A little while back, something busted me out. My body, at least. Soul wasn't so lucky."

Dean turned to Cas. "This sound right to you?"

Behind him, Sam was walking over to Cas' desk and kicking out the chair so that he could sit down, sliding his bound arms over the back. Sam spoke before Cas could. "I just want to get everything out in the open straight away so you can't accuse me of hiding anything later. You get real pissy about that." Cas snorted, and Dean shot him a quick glare. Sam rolled his shoulders like he would before a sparring session. "Castiel can tell you exactly what’s wrong with me, but we're going to need your belt."

"My belt?"

"Yes, your belt," repeated Sam, the way he used to say _yes, I’m sure it's this exit._ "Cas?"

Dean tucked Cas’ arm around the back of his neck and helped him up, feeling the heat that rolled off him. He reminded himself to take Cas’ temperature later—Cas probably wouldn't recognize a fever if it hit him. Hadn't noticed the damn broken foot for two days, and look at the shit show that had turned into.

"We'll still need your belt," said Cas as he hobbled into position, bracing himself on the back of Sam's chair.

"What for?" Dean crossed his arms. He tried to watch Cas, make sure he didn't hurt his foot any worse, but his eyes kept sliding back to Sam’s face.

“Well, Castiel is rocking the parachute pants, and my belt is back in 2011,” Sam said. He slouched a little in the chair, spreading those long legs. “You can give it to us yourself, or Cas can take it off for you, I don’t care.”

 Even Dean was a little surprised by how quickly he pulled his belt from the loops and handed it over. He hadn't let anyone boss him around in years, but some habits died hard, and like hell he was going to let Cas undress him with that smug little smile on his face. Apparently Sam still knew how to press his buttons.

Cas accepted the belt with a quick nod. "If he's asking me to do what I think he is—and lucky for him, it's one of the few powers I have remaining—it's because the process is phenomenally painful." He looped the belt in half and leaned toward Sam. "Open," he commanded.

"And I'd rather not bite off my tongue in the name of earning your trust," added Sam before he bit down on the leather.

Dean caught Cas’ hand as he went to—poke Sam in the chest? "This will work, right? I mean, why would Lucifer volunteer for something like that if he knew it was just going to give him away?" Even as the words came out of his mouth, Dean knew he was being stupid. Anything that might give Lucifer away was worth trying. But soul or no, this was _Sam_. Dean hadn't let himself remember this face in years—had tried to forget Sam’s dimples, the mole on his chin, that ridiculous hair falling in his eyes. And now Sam was sitting right there in front of him, and Dean was gonna let him be tortured? There was a part of Dean, distant but not extinguished, that would still rather die than see Sam hurt.

He reigned the instinct in. Couldn't afford to be soft in days like these, not for anyone. "I mean—at least, is there something we could give him for the pain?"

Cas gave him a wide-eyed look. "You really are different with him around. I like you better like this." He sighed and pushed Dean back, wobbling a little on his cast. "If it were Lucifer, he would probably have killed us by now, but this test shows me exactly what’s riding around in there—or isn’t.” Cas took hold of Sam’s shoulder with one hand, flexing the other. “But it’s no good wasting my pills on him; they don’t work for this kind of pain. Which, apparently, Sam knew already." Sam nodded, drooling a little bit around the belt.

Dean watched Castiel murmur a few Enochian words into Sam's ear before pressing his hand against Sam's chest—no, _into_ Sam's chest—and Sam's screams, even muffled by leather, filled the room.

Dean took a step forward at the same time that Risa burst in the door. "What part of 'stay the hell out' didn't you understand?" he shouted at her, as Sam kept screaming behind him. Risa ran back out of the cabin with an eagerness that spoke of more than just discipline.

Hell, _Dean_ was almost ready to run out, or pull Cas away from his brother and beat the shit out of him. Sam’s insides glowed a dull red around Cas’ arm, and the screams were getting hoarser, broken. Dean was about two seconds from calling the whole thing off when it all stopped. Sam's head slumped forward, apparently unconscious, and Castiel staggered backwards. He would have fallen right over if Dean hadn't been there to catch him.

"Hey, you okay?" he said, and Cas looked genuinely grateful, an expression Dean hadn't seen from him in months.

"He's telling the truth," Castiel gasped as Dean helped him back to the bed. Sam was still sagging forward in the chair, held up by his cuffed arms. "It’s Sam, but he doesn't have a soul. It's just meat and memories in there."

Dean knelt in front of the body of his brother. Sam’s face had gone slack, no hint of pain, but Dean’s heart still beat too fast. "Meat and memories, huh?" He reached forward and pushed an errant lock of hair out of Sam’s face. “So what happened to his soul?” Dean moved around the chair and unlocked the cuffs, then he shouldered the familiar burden of his brother's bulk in a fireman's carry and dumped Sam in the arm chair with a grunt. Sam shifted and mumbled something. Dean squatted down in front of him, trying to catch his brother's murmurs.

"Soul was too damaged,” Sam got out, his voice still hoarse from screaming. “My Dean, he had Castiel put it in Heaven and sent me here. Couldn't stand to have me around, empty like this."

Dean gritted his teeth. How could any version of himself not be grateful every damn second with any piece of Sam that he got? Meat and memories? Fuck, that's all _Dean_ was these days. Sam opened his eyes and caught Dean’s gaze.

"Said he couldn't trust me with anyone but himself."

Dean straightened up. Some part of him just wanted to bundle Sam up with a few shots of whiskey and a bad horror movie, but he couldn't let himself get carried away by nostalgia, not with so many lives riding on his decisions. "You don't have a soul. How can I trust you?"

He was thinking out loud, so he was almost surprised when Sam huffed out a throaty laugh. "Don't you trust yourself? My Dean gave me a message for you. I think he knew you'd ask that." He eyed Cas. "He also said that I wasn't supposed to say this in front of anyone else."

Dean spared a look at Cas, who was humming to himself in his mound of pillows on the bed, eyes closed. "The chances that Cas will even remember this tomorrow are fifty-fifty at best."

Sam smirked for a second. "Don’t blame me for this, then. My Dean says you decided on a specific memory that no one else would know, a password. Like 'funky town' but only for you." Sam sat up straighter in the armchair, let his voice go husky. "Something about being nineteen and some chick named Rhonda Hurley giving you a pair of satiny pink panti-"

"Shut the fuck up,” Dean said, but Sam was already laughing.

"Hey, that password was your idea, Dean." There was something wrong with the laugh, like Sam was reveling in Dean's discomfort rather than sharing the joke. "Seriously, a code to your future self? You watched way too many _Terminator_ movies when we were kids."

“Like you weren’t sitting next to me every time and begging for more,” Dean shot back, and the memory of Sammy warm and laughing beside him felt like a betrayal. This might not be Lucifer, but it wasn’t his Sam.

For one thing, _his_ Sam never looked up and down Dean’s whole body like it was on sale, pausing at the holster strapped to his thigh and the bit of open collar at his neck. And Dean had had years of practice at ignoring this, thirty to pretend he wasn’t looking at his brother and four more when he couldn’t look at all; feeling Sam’s eyes track over his body shouldn’t have made his mouth go dry.

“Begging for more, huh?” From his Sam it would have been a joke. “Is that how you want me?”

“Okay, enough,” Dean snapped, but Sam’s eyes were locked on his for the first time in four years, and he couldn’t quite make himself look away. A half-smile played around Sam’s mouth, full of intent—to do what, Dean couldn't quite say.

“Told you I’ve still got all my memories, Dean. I’m not blind. You've wanted me for years.” Sam stood up, deliberately in Dean’s space. Dean clenched his jaw and stayed put—he'd faced down worse than his own sick fantasies. Sam leaned even closer. “Don't worry, I don't mind if you want to wear a pair of pink panties while I fuck you. They'd go nice with that blush you’re working on.” Sam reached out and ran his thumb over Dean's cheekbone, and Dean swallowed.

“I have panties,” Cas drawled from his nest. “Potentially even pink ones. I haven’t organized them by color yet; someone keeps sending me out to get shot at.”

“Oh I’m sorry, would you prefer it if we invited the croats to your little orgies?” Dean had jumped at the reminder that Cas was in the room, and that made him harsher than usual. Half an hour with something that looked like Sam, and already his instincts were going to shit.

Sam, meanwhile, had zeroed in on the pile of discarded clothing next to Cas’s bed, and pulled out a scrap of satin with troubling accuracy. They were—of course—bright pink.

“Like these.” Sam moved back toward Dean, dangling the panties in one hand, and with the other he shoved Dean onto the bed.

Dean fell on top of Cas—goddamn, the bastard had sharp kneecaps—without having time to brace himself at all. He’d seen Sam moving, seen the hand reaching towards him, but the push still took him by complete surprise. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of Sam’s considerable muscle mass, not at full strength, and he hated that it turned him on a little even as he cursed and tried to untangle himself.

“Cas, hold him,” said Sam blandly, and to Dean’s outrage, Cas wrapped around him from behind and tugged him backward until he was leaning against Cas’ chest.

“What the _hell_ , Cas—”

“It’s him or the cuffs,” Sam said, picking up Dean’s handcuffs from where he’d dropped them. "Wouldn't want you leaving the party early." Then Sam took off his t-shirt, and Dean stopped struggling quite so hard. Where had his baby brother gotten abs like that?

“I can give you the orgy speech, if it’d make you feel better,” Cas said into his ear. Dean couldn’t help a fruitless jerk of his hips. "I think there’s something in there about the astral plane, and also about how the leaders of post-apocalyptic military camps should take a break every once in a while.” He grinned. "No good having a stick up your ass when you could have something even better up there, right Dean?"

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” said Dean, mostly because Cas had just pinched his nipple in the process of taking his shirt off. He would get mad about that in a minute, once Sam wasn’t smirking down at him with handcuffs in one hand and a pair of pink panties in the other.

“So what’s it gonna be, Dean?” Sam's eyebrows arched. "It can be both, if you want."

Dean should have been elbowing Cas in the ribs and maybe breaking a few fingers if necessary. He should have been telling them both to go to hell; should have been leaving this fucking cabin and going back to the life he actually lived, the one full of croats and supply lists and blood, the one where he never knew what his brother’s face looked like with nothing behind it but pure animal lust. But Dean was well past halfway hard now, and it had been four years, and he was _tired_. Tired of fighting, tired of leading, tired of pretending not to want things for himself.

“No cuffs,” he said, and then Sam was on him, sliding his long fingers under Dean’s thigh holster to unbuckle it, so close to where Dean wanted him but drawing back at the last second. Cas had a hand on either hip, holding him down, but that didn’t stop Dean from trying to rock upward when Sam crouched between his legs and started to undo Dean’s jeans.

“Now who’s begging for more?” Sam said, which was completely unfair, because Dean hadn’t said a damn thing. Sam bit into Dean’s bare stomach and Dean swallowed back a moan.

“Lift up,” Cas said from behind him, and then both boxers and jeans were gone, and Sam was hooking the pink panties over Dean’s ankles and slowly sliding them upward. Dean’s breath came fast and heavy before Sam’s hands had even reached his knees.

"Pretty," said Cas as the panties finally settled into place. Dean felt a moment's indignation before Sam ducked down to lick his erection through the thin silky fabric and drove every thought out of his brain.

"Very pretty," agreed Sam, his breath hot against Dean's thighs. "My Dean was always too scared to do anything, you know, even when I didn’t have a soul to guilt-trip him with. But not you—you're a hard man, that's what he told me." Sam gave Dean's cock another long lick, smirking at the pun. "You live in a fucked-up world. Do you really think wanting me will make things any worse?"

He knelt back, rubbing at Dean's dick with his thumb while Dean squirmed in Cas' grip. "Let me have this, Dean. Wanna see how wet you'll get these pretty pink panties for me." Sam leaned forward and claimed Dean's mouth with his own.

Dean had imagined kissing Sam before—jerked off to it a few times, back when his biggest problem was wanting to suck his brother’s cock. He’d pictured Sam as shy but eager; imagined himself breaking past Sam’s reservations and teaching him how wonderful it could feel. This Sam was nothing like his fantasies. He bit Dean’s bottom lip almost hard enough to cut before licking across it and into Dean’s mouth, tongue thrusting deeper and deeper in rhythm with Sam’s hips rolling against his, the hard line of his cock letting Dean know he wasn't alone in wanting this.

Behind him, Cas inhaled sharply, and Dean could feel the erection pressing against his back even as Cas shifted his grip from Dean's hips to his arms. "How do you want him?" he asked, and Dean knew the question wasn’t for him.

Sam's lips curled upwards against Dean's. "Just like this." He rolled his hips forward again and Dean couldn't stop his groan. Sam ducked his head down and started sucking at Dean's right nipple while his hand pinched the other. He wasn't shy about using his teeth on the sensitive nub, and it was that casual possessiveness as much as the sharp pinch that sent goosebumps across Dean’s skin. He arched his back, inviting Sam to apply even more pressure, his legs rubbing up against the denim of Sam’s. Why was Dean the only one naked?

“Off,” Dean growled, tugging at Sam’s jeans. Sam didn’t stop his slow trail of bites along Dean’s chest, which meant Dean somehow wound up digging his fingers into Sam’s hair and groaning loud enough for the entire camp to hear him instead of undressing his brother. Cas took pity on him and curled both their bodies forward, one hand bracing the back of Dean’s neck while the other undid Sam’s jeans and pushed them down around his knees. Guy must get a lot of practice, Dean thought hazily. Sam kicked the pants aside without bothering to detach his mouth.

“Kiss him again,” Cas breathed, and though Sam hummed a warning around Dean’s nipple, he seemed content to let Dean pull him back up for another taste. Dean peeled away from the warmth of Cas’ chest, chasing after something in Sam’s mouth that he wasn’t going to find there.

He felt shifting behind him, and when Cas draped himself across Dean’s back again to nibble Dean’s ear, it was skin to skin. Dean felt his muscles relaxing, for once receiving no orders from his brain, pliant between the two familiar bodies pressed against him.

Sam rubbed his knuckles along the line of Dean’s cock where it was still trapped in the panties, soaking through the fabric. “Told you they’d look good,” Sam said. “Look at you, wet as a girl already, and we haven’t even gotten started.” He curled one finger under the elastic, over the sensitive skin of Dean’s inner thigh.

"Quit being such a goddamn cocktease," Dean gritted out, the last word turning into a gasp when Cas nibbled at his pulse point.

Sam grinned. "Now what would be the fun in that?”

Cas tilted Dean’s head back and started his own exploration of Dean’s mouth, so Dean wasn’t aware of Sam opening the bottle of lube until his slippery fingers were pushing the panties aside and tracing around his hole.

“That vintage 2011 too?” he managed.

"Brought it along just for this occasion," Sam replied. He pushed a single finger in. "Don't worry: there's another case of it waiting for you back with the toilet paper." Cas snickered, but then Sam's finger curled up against Dean's prostate and Dean’s focus narrowed only to the pressure of it inside him.

"So fucking eager for me, aren't you?" Sam pushed in another finger and twisted. “You want me to fuck you?”

Dean wasn't going to dignify that with a response, but Sam started flicking his fingers against that spot and— "Dammit! Come on, man!"

Sam's grin widened, but it was Cas' raspy voice in his ear that said, "What's the magic word?"

Dean threw his head back, which only served to expose his throat further to the ministrations of Cas' tongue. He moaned wordlessly and arched his hips up, but Sam withdrew his finger. "Fuck!"

Sam's slippery hand cradled Dean's balls, his hand stretching the elastic of the panties to its limit. "Not until I hear you say it, Dean," Sam replied, and that much at least reminded Dean of _his_ Sammy—obnoxiously patient at the least convenient times.

"Please," Dean ground out between clenched teeth and thank fucking God, Sam's finger entered him again. But once inside, it went still. Dean tried to cant his hips up, fuck himself onto the slender length of it, but Cas' hands on his hipbones held him firm.

"'Please' what?" said Cas, and when the fuck had these two decided to team up against him?

Dean groaned. "What do you two assholes want me to say?"

Cas tweaked his nipple again. "Name-calling, Dean? That's no way to get what you want."

"No, it isn’t," agreed Sam, swirling his finger around in one tantalizing circle before stilling it again. "Ask nicely, Dean."

"Fuck you."

Sam smirked. "Thought you wanted me to fuck _you._ " He snapped the elastic against Dean’s skin and moved up Dean’s body, speaking low and hot in Dean’s ear. "You want me to fuck you so hard your cock almost jumps out of these pretty pink panties, so hard you’ll feel it for weeks. Don’t you, Dean?" Sam let his dick drag across the satin covering Dean’s hole, and Dean made a choked sound. “Answer.”

"Yes," he hissed. "Yes, _please_ , Sam—"

Cas nibbled a line of bites down his jaw. "Then ask for it," he said, before laying a quick peck on Dean's lips. Sam looked deadly serious, and Dean was wound so tight he almost didn’t care. He lowered his gaze.

"Please, Sam." He couldn't say the rest, he couldn't—he was supposed to be the strong one. But Sam was looking down at him so expectantly, and Dean had never learned how to say no to that look, even when he'd had daily chances to practice. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn. "Please—fuck me in my panties."

Immediately he was rewarded with another finger pushing into his ass. He moaned and shifted his legs apart, relished the feeling of his insides stretching. Sam scissored him open, running his mouth along Dean’s neck. Dean arched against Sam's body.

“He’s ready,” Cas said.

Dean opened his eyes and saw the flicker of jealous heat in Sam's gaze before that flicker turned into something else—determination, maybe. Dean let all his want and all his hope show on his face when he looked back. "Please, Sammy."

And his Sammy might have gotten wide-eyed and joyful at that, but this Sam just hauled Dean away from Cas and flipped him over without even straining. The panties stayed on, but Sam did ruck them down to the tops of Dean’s thighs, so that whenever Dean moved his hips a breath of air would hit the back of his balls as the panties dragged back and forth on his cock. For a second Dean stayed there, crouched over Cas and waiting for Sam, eyes closed, jaw lax, bared to both of them. Then he felt the head of Sam’s dick against the rim of his hole, and his breath caught.

“If you wait one more goddamn second—”

Sam shoved all the way in without giving Dean any time to adjust. Dean jerked forward, his eyes flying open mere inches from Cas’s face as he struggled to regain his balance. Cas quirked his mouth at Dean, and Dean thought he should probably do something with that, but then Sam pulled out, adjusted his angle, and slammed home again. Dean saw sparks.

“Listen to you,” Sam panted, dragging tortuously slowly across Dean’s prostate. “Moaning like a whore, Dean. All those times I caught you looking, always knew you’d be such a slut for my cock. You’re just going to take all of it, aren’t you? Bet you don’t even need a reach-around. My cock and those panties are doing the job just fine.”

Smooth fingers stroked the stubble of Dean's jaw line. "I don't think so," rasped Cas. "Dean here, he needs a little something more, don't you?" When Dean hadn't been paying attention—probably because he could feel every inch of Sam drilling into him—Cas had managed to open his own fly, freeing the long hard length that Dean had once known so well. "Dean loves sucking cock almost as much as he likes being fucked by it, isn't that right?"

Dean groaned again, trying to hold himself still, but Sam's thrusts were too damn strong, fingertips pressing hard into the muscles of his shoulders. "That true, Dean? You need a cock at both ends to satisfy you?" Sam rammed in hard, pulling Dean back against his chest so Sam could wrap a solid arm around his belly. "Tell me what you need," Sam breathed in his ear. "Maybe, if you ask real nice, I'll let you have it."

Cas glared at Sam, breathing hard. Served him right. Dean had grown up thinking he could count on his family, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d thought his team would have his back. That Cas seemed to take Sam’s side in this game shouldn’t have stung like it did—but maybe that was just because Sam’s side wasn’t Dean’s anymore. Sure, Dean did kind of want to suck Cas' dick, but if it wasn't on Cas' terms—well, that was just payback for the last ten months, wasn't it?

“Well?” said Cas, but Sam reached out and covered Cas' mouth with one hand.

“You want his pretty little mouth on you, you better shut yours,” Sam said. He licked a stripe along the side of Dean's face, still pistoning away inside him. "Say it, Dean. Tell me whether you want that fat angel cock in your mouth or not." Sam pulled his hand away from Cas' mouth and stroked it lightly over Dean's dick, satin dragging along the skin. "If you want it, you're gonna have to beg for it. Real pretty, too, because I'm not inclined to share." He turned Dean's face into him and plundered his mouth, licking into it and mapping every inch while he kept up the punishing rhythm.

Dean pulled away, panting at the sight of Cas jerking himself underneath him. "Yes," he groaned, leaning forward unconsciously and tasting Sam on his lips. "Yes, I want it, Cas, I want—let me—"

Sam tugged him back. "You're not asking him, you're asking _me_ ," he growled. Another shudder passed through Dean's body, and his voice turned smug again. "What did I say about using your words, Dean?"

"Sam." Dean closed his eyes. "Please, let me suck Cas' cock while you fuck me in my panties." The words were easier to say than they should’ve been, but Dean’s rebellion had burnt out of him in Detroit. He had Sam now, or as close as he was going to get; what good was pride against hearing Sammy ask for something he could give?

Sam’s fingers twisted in his hair. "Then take it, slut." And Dean was forced down, pushed forward until he could take the straining length of Cas' dick down his throat. This he knew; _this_ Dean could manage, even as Sam kept up a bruising pace in his ass. Dean licked up Cas' cock, reveled in his full-bodied groan when Dean's lips reached the base. Dean knew how to keep up just the right level of suction here, even if he hiccuped once or twice on particularly rough thrusts from Sam.

"So goddamn gorgeous like this, Dean," said Sam, digging his fingers hard into Dean's hips as he slammed in. “Fucking made for this, weren’t you? Cock stuffed in either end and still wearing those panties.” Dean moaned around Cas’ dick. It was only a few moments later that Cas came, spilling deep inside Dean's throat.

After his limp dick fell out of Dean's mouth, Cas made a groggy attempt to free Dean’s dick from his panties, but Sam _snarled_ at him and pinned Cas’ arm. “You’re done,” he told Cas, and Cas held up his hands, scooting out from underneath them to watch from the other side of the bed. Sam turned Dean’s head, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb. "You want to come too, Dean, you have to beg."

Dean clenched his jaw, almost ready to tear himself free and walk out. Hadn’t he begged enough for one fuck, for one chance? What did Sam want to do, humiliate him completely? _Break_ him?

But then, what had Sam ever done but break him?

He bowed his head. "Please, Sammy, I need you," he muttered, and it sounded too much like the truth. Sam licked up the stray trails of come on Dean's jaw and kissed him deeply, tongue flicking across Dean's teeth before he pulled away.

"You're gonna come for me, just from this," said Sam. Dean could only nod, concentrating on the tingling strikes against his prostate and the silky glide of the panties against his dick. Sam bit down at the join of his neck and shoulder, and Dean shook all over. He was so close, if he could just— “Come for me, Dean,” Sam said, and Dean was done.

Dean felt himself spilling into the panties, filling them with his come, and somehow that only made his dick jerk harder as Sam wrung him dry. “ _Sammy_ ,” he choked out, and some desperate voice inside him cried, _stay_.

Dean felt Sam’s come pulsing into him as he collapsed onto the bedspread. He felt over-full on Sam’s cock as it jerked to limpness inside him, and something knotted inside his chest even as the rest of him went loose. Dean just concentrated on breathing deeply, regaining control of his own body in what few ways he could.

Sam pulled out, leaving Dean messy and empty. He pulled the sticky panties down around Dean’s knees and then off, filthy and dripping with come. Dean turned himself enough to see the smug smile on Sam’s face—not the way Sammy looked after he’d won an argument, exasperated and fond, but a cold, superior smirk. Dean was reminded anew that this wasn’t—wouldn’t ever be—the brother he wanted back.

"Guess you’re my Dean now." Sam chuckled, rolling Dean onto his back, hands running over every inch of Dean's exhausted body. "And don’t forget it. Cas, you got running water in your little palace here?" Cas did, and he inclined his head towards the bathroom. Sam kept talking. "When you and your angel pal here are feeling a little more lively, you can let me know about all your plans for stopping Lucifer. I've already done it once, so I can probably give you a couple pointers." Sam stepped off the bed, carelessly naked. "Now that I think of it, this probably was the best plan, sending me here. You Deans have some pretty good ideas every once in a while."

Dean watched Sam walk into the bathroom and tried not to think of it as Sam leaving. Cas propped himself on his elbow and looked down at Dean.

“I don’t like _him_ better like this.”

“Better this than Lucifer.” Dean let his head fall back into the comforter and was pleasantly surprised to feel the warm press of Cas’ hand against his shoulder. He wasn’t used to sleep overtaking him so quickly, especially like this, naked and unguarded. Dean heard the shower turn on, just like so many nights in motels across the country, him and Sam against the world. Almost to himself Dean whispered, "I missed him.”

Cas said nothing.

“Just wish he wasn’t always broken,” Dean mumbled, then twitched a little more awake. "Hey—you think the real Lucifer still has his soul somewhere in there? Could we fix him?"

Cas remained silent for what felt like an eternity before Dean felt fingers running through his hair. "It's a thought," whispered Cas.

"Tomorrow," Dean murmured, “maybe—” Then he was asleep, and all of it, the whole fucking world, could—just this once—wait.


End file.
